


Three Kisses

by hexameters



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Firewhiskey (Harry Potter), First Kiss, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Good Slytherins, Hogwarts Forbidden Forest, Hogwarts Library, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), Missing Scene, Motorcycles, O.W.L.s | Ordinary Wizarding Levels, Quidditch, Shrieking Shack, Sibling Rivalry, Studying, Sweet, The Marauder's Map, Werewolf Prejudice, Werewolf Remus Lupin, Werewolf Turning, latent jily, sorry i refuse to write peter more than 3 lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-19 01:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22369843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hexameters/pseuds/hexameters
Summary: The first time they kiss, it is messy, slobbery and toothy, like the inside of a dog’s mouth, and Remus doesn’t know what to do with his hands. I AM KISSING SIRIUS BLACK! runs through his head like a glittering marquee, followed by THIS IS NOT HOW I IMAGINED THIS! because of course he has imagined it and imagined it and imagined it.
Relationships: Marlene McKinnon & Dorcas Meadowes, Sirius Black & Marlene McKinnon, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin, Sirius Black/Marlene McKinnon, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 100





	Three Kisses

Two weeks, five hours, and three minutes after it happens, Remus decides that Sirius doesn’t remember. _Can't_ possibly remember. Because when Sirius asks him for a spare quill during Charms class, he treats him exactly the same. He always forgets his quill, which usually wouldn’t be a big deal if they didn’t have a pop quiz that day. Sirius has an annoying knack for remembering all of their lectures by heart. But it is the longest they have gone without touching since—well, since two weeks, five hours, and two minutes after it happened.

So Sirius takes the extra quill, and his fingers slide across Remus’s palm like the lapping edge of a flame. Remus waits for a reaction, but Sirius is already scribbling his name down, eyes focused on his parchment.

Remus wipes his sweaty hands off against his shirttail and focuses on the quiz. He does _not_ think about Sirius’s stupid arm muscle practically undulating as he writes, or the infuriating way that his dark hair flops over one of his eyes as he peers down.

Two weeks, five hours, and six minutes. That’s how much time has to pass before Remus decides he will forget what happened too.

* * *

At breakfast Sirius gives a deep, laborious sigh. He sighs again, this time pointedly, in Remus’s direction. He coughs a little, then louder.

“Padfoot, I’ve got some throat lozenges in my trunk,” Peter says between bites of waffle.

“That’s no way to proposition someone, is it Petey?” Sirius says, his eyes still locked on Remus. Remus fights the urge to flick his eyes upwards.

“I had a cold last week,” Peter explains. “Loads of lozenges left over if you need them.”

“I recall you coughing through the night, yes,” Sirius says. “Maybe I can still sniff up those germs and catch that cold. Perhaps if I were on my deathbed Moony would have some pity on me.”

“Remus has a cold?” Peter asks.

Sirius shakes his head. “Just a cold heart.”

“I’m not like you and Prongs,” Remus says loudly. _Good, lump him in with Prongs. That’s not pointed, is it?_ He flips a page of his textbook. 

“Like what?” James says, speaking at last. His eyes are on some distant spot and he looks as if he is in a trance. Remus follows his faze. Lily Evans is across the Great Hall, greeting a few Hufflepuffs. James looks as if he is trying to attempt wandless telepathy. “Like what?” he repeats, finally looking to his friends.

“Giant brains. Humungous foreheads. Big old craniums!” Remus presses down not he pages of his reading. “I’m studying. Remember the rule?”

“What rule?” Peter asks. He reaches for another waffle.

“Nothing but Arithmancy until today’s midterm. I’m serious,” Remus catches it just as he says it, his face screwing up. “No, no, don’t you dare—“

“Actually, _I’m_ Sirius,” he says gravely, with a flourish of his hand. “Really, you have lost your marbles.”

He ignores him.

Sirius breaks into a pitiful whine. “But Moooooony, who will pay attention to me?”

Before, Remus would have let Sirius tug on his tie or knock his knees against his under the table. But Remus keeps his head down. He knows it is childish to treat Sirius this way, to put him at an arm’s length when they have only ever been like brothers (though, Remus doesn’t _have_ a brother), but he feels hurt and annoyed, and most of all, foolish for ever allowing himself to believe that Sirius would ever kiss him and mean it.

* * *

The first time they kiss, it is messy, slobbery and toothy, like the inside of a dog’s mouth, and Remus doesn’t know what to do with his hands. _I AM KISSING SIRIUS BLACK!_ runs through his head like a glittering marquee, followed by _THIS IS NOT HOW I IMAGINED THIS!_ because of course he has imagined it and imagined it and imagined it. His fingers hover over his lap as though he’s priming himself to play a piano concerto. Sirius’s hand slides hungrily up his arm, then to his shoulder, then it stops in the crook of his neck. _Clack clack clack._ Their canines click against one another. The snow pulses down on the windows of the common room. A handful of whoops pepper the room, but the music is so loud that they’re nearly drowned out.

The kiss feels inevitable and shocking all at once. It is the logical conclusion to one thousand shared glances, but it’s also like racing down a staircase at full-speed and missing the last step. The mistletoe that has been haranguing them for the past half hour finally stops honking. Remus’s leg is jiggling and he hopes Sirius doesn’t notice. He hopes nobody notices. They pull apart.

Sirius breaks into a grin. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” a few polite handfuls of applause erupt around the room. He plucks the mistletoe from the air above them and tosses it over his shoulder.

James bounds over to them, two cups of something steaming in both hands. “Cheers, you two!” he hands them each a drink. He squints at Remus’s face. “You’ve got a little—oh, there,” he points to the corner of his own mouth. “Sirius slobber, I presume. A delicacy, really.”

“Thanks,” Remus wipes it off with the back of his hand. His lips are still wet.

Sirius barks a laugh. “Who’s next?” he gestures magnanimously to the common room, which is full of drunken laughter. He is soon lost to the crowd.

Remus sways on his feet, his fingers still touching his own lips as if to check that he is still there. He replays this kiss for months— _years_ , if he is being brutally honest—to come.

He is fourteen years old.

But that is not the kiss that Sirius forgot.

* * *

Someone bumps into Remus as he’s rounding the corner, a stack of books from the library in his hands toppling. They both tumble to the floor, the other student’s book bag flops open, scattering quills about.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly, scrambling to pick up the books. “I wasn’t looking properly—“

He stops, because he realizes the student he ran into is wearing Slytherin robes. Dark hair hangs over his face as he hoists himself up. It is Regulus. He looks so strikingly like Sirius from this close, but slightly off, a little peculiar, as if someone who did not know Sirius very well and did not have an appreciation for his dark handsome features has drawn him from memory.

“S-sorry,” he says again, stooping down to help him gather his things. “Here, let me help.”

Regulus looks Remus up and down, and he feels a chill pass over him. He was only a few paces ahead of his friends. So he knows Sirius must not be far behind.

Sure enough, Sirius appears, his face twisting quickly from an expression of ease to one of revulsion. “Remus, is he bothering you?” Sirius doesn’t even bother looking at his brother.

Regulus looks coldly at Sirius, head-on, unblinking. Remus puts a hand on Sirius’s shoulder, briefly forgetting his rule— _no more touching_. It is the first time they have touched like this since three weeks, four days, and eleven hours ago. “It was an accident, my fault—“

“You staying with him, then?” the younger Black says, ignoring him. It is clear who he is talking to.

“Wouldn’t you like to know? What, so you can tell all of your little wanker friends?” Sirius says. “I don’t care what they think of me.”

“I don’t,” Regulus mumbles defensively. “Mother was just asking me, they get cross when I don’t have an answer—“

Something like pity flashes in Sirius’s eyes. But he quickly recovers. “Tell good old mummy to shove it up her arse. Come on, Moony. Let’s go.”

Sirius shrugs Remus’s hand off of him and turns away to make his way down the hall.

* * *

“Hey,” James says, plopping himself into the chair next to Remus in front of the Gryffindor fireplace. “Are you angry at me?”

“No,” Remus says quietly. “I’m just stressed. Exams,” he says. This is technically not a lie.

“Oh, right,” he says, as if he is just now being reminded of the fact that their exams are coming up. This could be true, Remus thinks with some envy. Of the four of them, Remus is the one who has been spending the most time in the library, and he sometimes catches James daydreaming in their study periods, a book propped up on his lap, his mind elsewhere. But he knows James will probably do better on his exams than he will.

“Well, you’ll be fine,” James says, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder.

He ignores this. “Where’s Padfoot?” It’s unusual to see James alone like this.

“Hungover. I saw him and Marlene run off with a bottle of firewhiskey last night,” he winked. “Poor bastard thinks he’s being coy. Can’t get anything past the old Prongsy,” James taps his temple conspiratorially.

“Oh,” Remus says, desperately trying not to think about the feeling of Sirius’s lips against his. He feels his stomach drop. “Right.”

“Don’t worry Moony, you’ll always have me,” James takes Remus’s face in his hands and squishes his cheeks. “My little wolf.”

“Mmphf,” Remus replies.

* * *

The thing is, that is actually _his_ bottle of firewhiskey, procured after a complicated bit of a transfiguration work that allowed him to walk into the liquor store on Diagon Alley before school started with a long white beard that rivaled Albus Dumbledore’s.

And then three weeks, six days, and fourteen hours ago, he and Sirius had proceeded to play a drinking game alone in the dormitory while James did his prefect rounds. They both sat on the floor.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Remus says, Peter’s snores in the background. Peter had passed out half an hour ago.

“Come on, no stupid questions,” Sirius grins, the tops of his cheekbones pink. “I’ll give you a pass for that one.”

“If you’re not going to answer, then you have to drink. You’re going to do well on your exams, and I overheard McGonagall telling you that you’d have your pick at the Ministry after you put those squirting gobstones in her goblet—”

“Why don’t you guess?”

“That’s not how the game works.”

“Guess!” he demands. He slaps the floor. 

“Motorcycle enthusiast. Leather model. Shampoo spokesman,” Remus suppresses a giggle. They are both so drunk.

“You flatter me.”

“Answer!”

Sirius fingers the little glass that was waiting for him on the hardwood. “I don’t have a good answer,” he says, his face twisting into a grimace. “I’d like to buy a bike, yes, and maybe travel for a bit. See where it takes me.”

“What, a wanderer? You want to be a-a nomad?”

“Next question,” Sirius slurs, his head swaying a little. “Best tits in our year—“

“Evans,” he blurts out, laughing, clutching his gut. “Fuck, that just came out, I didn’t mean to say—“

Sirius doubles over laughing. “Oh, don’t let Prongs hear you, he’ll kill you in your sleep!”

Remus wiped the tears of laughter off of his face.

“What do you want to be?” Sirius says. “Is that why you study so hard?” he says abruptly, voice clearer, as if he has sobered up in the seconds it takes to formulate that additional question.

Remus lifted his glass. He doesn’t want to ruin the mood, but the alcohol is making him more honest than usual. “They don’t give people like me jobs.”

Sirius is sideways now, lying on the floor with his head propped up on his arm. “I have a proposition,” he says, his eyes back to being misty with liquor. “You’ll come with me, we’ll go all over, I’ll get one of those attachments for the motorbike, and you’ll be my little companion. My little—“ he hiccuped, “—friend.”

“Is that what they’re calling them these days?”

Sirius is closing his eyes now, his finger up as if to say _wait_ , and Remus recognizes it as his thinking face, something that never comes up during class or in the library, but only when he is tinkering with something complicated, like when they finally figured out the Map or the first time Sirius was able to turn his nose into a dog’s snout.

Their faces are very close. Usually this would be some cause for alarm, but the alcohol has made everything dreamy and soft, no room for panic. “You’d do it, Moony-moon, wouldn’t you?”

“It’s not your turn,” he says instead of answering.

Then Sirius darts a hand out to cup Remus’s face and he can see it happening before it happens, like he is clairvoyant, or maybe he is just deluded and years of wondering has kicked his overactive imagination into chaos, and soon he will wake up and it will have all have been a dream?

But it is real, and it is nothing like the kiss they shared when they were fourteen, it’s soft and sweet. Less slobber. He can feel his own heartbeat in his throat. Sirius smells like firewhiskey and ash and linen.

They pull apart. Sirius leans against the side of the bed, and his eyes are still closed. Remus can see the purple veins that crosshatch the skin on his eyelids. There are three freckles near his left eyebrow that form a little triangle.

“Sirius?” he asks.

No reply.

“Sirius?” he repeats, prodding him on the shoulder.

Sirius is fast asleep. Remus is frozen now, hovering over Sirius’s form. Then he jolts away, leaning back. Rubs his heels into his eyes. Totters to the bed, yanks a spare throw off of it to toss onto Sirius, who is already snoring.

When dawn comes he _does_ think it was a dream.

But then he remembers.

* * *

Four weeks, five days, and—oh, bloody hell, how long is he supposed to keep counting? It has been over a month. For Merlin’s sake.

“Blow off potions with us, come on, it’ll be a laugh,” James begs over breakfast. “I’m nearly positive I know what the Slytherin common room password is, I overheard Malfoy talking about it—it’s something stupid and poncy like _Sir Salazar_ or some other, and I just got a fresh shipment of dungbombs—“

“No, no, we’re reviewing the most important material for the exam, I can’t miss it. You know potions is one of my worst subjects. And we’ll be going over essay topics for the paper due next week,” Remus says, pushing around his eggs on his plate. He isn’t hungry. The full moon is in a few days, which isn’t helping. He can feel the way the moon tugs on his body. It’s like his center of gravity is moved ever so slightly for the days leading up to it.

Sirius has a mouthful of toast. “You know James and I will let you copy our essays—“

“That’s not the point, is it,” he says crisply, gathering his things.

“You study too hard!” James says. “Wormy isn’t even studying as hard as you, and he gets worse marks than all of us!”

“Hey!” Peter says defensively, though he looked slightly sheepish, as if to say, _he has a point._

His eyes flit to Sirius, who is still chewing on his toast. They make the briefest of eye contact, so quick Remus almost thinks he has made it up.

He waits a beat for Sirius to say something, but he doesn’t.

* * *

“Lupin, hold it right there.” McGonagall corners him as he’s making his way to the owlery. He jumps. He had been certain there was nobody behind him in the long hall. She is as quiet and elegant as a stalking panther.

He closes his eyes warily. _Fuck._ He arranges his face into one of blank cordiality and swivels around. “Hi, Professor. I’m sorry, I’m about to be late to my class—“

“Nonsense,” she says sternly, her eyes narrowing. _Has she gotten taller?_ he wonders bewilderingly to himself, because he feels as though he is only two feet tall under her gaze. “You have plenty of time. Were you aware that you had a career counseling meeting with me yesterday afternoon?”

“Er,” he says uselessly.

“We will need to reschedule.”

“Professor, I don’t know if there’s much to say—“

“I will be the judge of that. Tomorrow, seven o’clock, my office.”

“In the morning?” he screeched. “Professor, please, isn’t there a later time—“

“No,” she said with solemn finality. “Seven sharp, Lupin.”

She turns away without another word.

* * *

Sirius is kissing Marlene. Sirius is kissing Marlene. Sirius is kissing Marlene.

_Kissing_ isn’t really the word for it, it’s more like they are two worms attempting to merge together and become one body using only their mouths, so great is their undulating fervor.

Remus watches from one of the tables near the windows. It’s not like he hasn’t observed Sirius getting with other girls in his tenure at Hogwarts. There was a point late in fourth year where he seemed to have a new girlfriend each month, and Remus, James, and Peter would be going on with their usual routine together when he would look up to realize that a different student was sitting with them. These girls had little in common with one another except for the fact that they were never in Slytherin. But also, actually, maybe they did have one thing in common—they were always very pretty.

Then again, Remus is not sure if he is a good judge of that because he secretly thinks most girls are pretty.

Sirius is certainly the most handsome boy he’s ever seen, though.

James sits near Sirius, and if he minded that his best friend was currently preoccupied, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he seems to take it as an opportunity to monologue at Sirius, with Sirius resurfacing every so often to add something or cut in with a joke before diving back in to kissing Marlene.

“I have to go to bed,” Remus says, snapping his textbook shut. 

“What?” Peter says. “It’s only eight o’clock.”

“I have to meet with McGonagall in the morning,” he mumbles, heading towards the staircase to the dormitory before Peter can say anything to stop him.

* * *

He knocks on the door of McGonagall’s office with two minutes to spare.

“Enter,” a voice says. But it is not McGonagall.

It is Dumbledore.

“Headmaster,” he says, feeling a cold sweat come over him. Has he done something wrong? The old fear of being kicked out of Hogwarts resurfaces. Perhaps his headmaster had changed his mind and saw him for the dangerous monster that he was—

“Butterscotch,” Dumbledore says mildly, picking at a tin on McGonagall’s desk. He is wearing violet robes. They are the brightest thing in the room. “Not my favorite,” he says, picking up a candy and popping it into his mouth. “But it will do.”

“Sir?”

“Sit.”

He couldn’t help but feel that he was in some kind of trouble.

“You are not in trouble,” Dumbledore says, as if reading his thoughts, taking a seat across from him. Remus must look even more panic-stricken, because the man smiles at him. “I asked Professor McGonagall if I could take over your career counseling meeting.”

“Oh.”

“But I take it you do not think you have a future after Hogwarts.”

“Well, considering my…” he hesitates. “Condition.”

“Why do you study for your exams, in that case? If not to use your marks? You are exceedingly bright,” Dumbledore says, and when Remus begins to protest, Dumbledore raises a hand to stop him. “No, you are.”

“I figure,” he says slowly, realizing he has never put it to words, “I should try my best while I’m here, sir. As a sign of respect.”

He strokes his beard. “What do your friends hope to do after graduating?”

“James wants to become an Auror, sir.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore says. “And the others?”

“I don’t know about Peter. Sirius says he wants to travel,” he says lamely. It sounds very ordinary when he says it like this, but he isn’t feeling charitable to Sirius at the moment so he doesn’t add to it.

“Remus,” he says, peering over his half-moon spectacles, “I will have work for you, if you should want it. I do not care about the registry that is kept at the Ministry as some of my contemporaries do.”

His ears perk up. He wonders what Dumbledore could offer him—a teaching position, perhaps? But that seems ludicrous. What parent would allow him to teach their child? “What kind of work?”

Dumbledore ambles over to the window. He gazes out of it. “I cannot say much, but I can say that it is meaningful. Does that matter to you?”

“Meaningful,” he repeats. Infuriatingly, Sirius’s face floats up to the front of his mind. He thinks of Regulus and the murmuring rumors around certain Slytherins that sound too awful to be true. “I suppose.”

“Our differences often give us a way of seeing what others cannot. Remember that.”

He says this with a finality, and Remus knows it is time for him to leave. As he turns to go, Dumbledore chews on another butterscotch.

“Remus,” his headmaster says as he leaves. “Better not to tell your friends about this for now. Though I encourage honesty with them in everything else.”

He nods. _Cryptic old dodger_ , he thinks mildly as he leaves.

* * *

He goes to the Shrieking Shack first, as always. He shifts in the dark, bones changing, skin pulling. Hurt. Moon high and stark in the sky. Stars splitting the black. Clear night. 

Smells them first. Then sound. Scuttling of paws, hooves. Racing in the windless evening. 

He is grateful for the lack of words, fur whipping past, his friends sharing this place with him.

There’s a voice he recognizes in the back of his animal mind that reminds him that there will be pain when he changes back, then again, then again, then again.

But not now.

* * *

It always takes a day or two to get back to normal, and those first few days are the best, because it means that he has another month until he must change again.

It used to be much worse, before his friends came, too. But he cannot dwell on that.

“How’s it feel?” James asked once in the beginning, right after the first time they had joined him.

“Like a hangover. Aches,” he said, chewing slowly on a bit of bread at breakfast, the four of them with matching sets of sunken eyes. But he was happy.

Sirius smirked. He was glad for this—at least his friends had long done away with pity. It was how he knew they really didn’t see him any different.

“Hangover?” Sirius repeated, thoughtfully swirling a goblet of pumpkin juice in his palm. “On what?” he asked, twinkle in his eye. “Moon juice?” he whispered. “That’s it!”

“What?” Remus muttered.

“ _Moony_ ,“ he said it like it was a line in a song. “Your new name.”

* * *

He is the last one in the library, and he is almost out of parchment so he is writing tiny letters on the end of his page, crouched over it and squinting in the lamplight.

“Oi,” comes a voice. He looks up. Sirius leans against a bookshelf. “I’ve been tasked with finding you.”

“I’m working,” he says curtly. “Charms paper.”

“The library’s going to close soon.”

“I’ll be up soon, then.”

“Come on,” Sirius says, hoisting himself onto the table. “It’s a Friday. I’m not going to let you languish here.”

“I’m not languishing. Would a languishing person have done this?” he points at his paper, nearly finished now.

Sirius grabs at his quill, and he plucks it out of Remus’s hand easily, swiping it away.

“Give that back.”

“Everyone’s wondering where you are.”

“Sirius, I mean it,” he says impatiently, turning his palm up, waiting for Sirius to drop the quill back into his hand.

Something on Sirius’s face darkens as he hears his name. “You don’t call me ‘Padfoot’ anymore.”

“Fine. Padfoot.”

Sirius only stares at him. He tosses the quill back, but Remus doesn’t reach for it. It skids across the table.

Remus wants to kill him, he really does. “Shouldn’t you be with your girlfriend?”

Sirius frowns. His body language changes entirely. He seems to be genuinely confused. He cocks his head. “Oh, you saw that—“

“Yes, I _saw_ that, everyone in Gryffindor saw that.”

“No, Moony, I’m doing her a favor, she’s asked—“

“Of course, of course you think you’re doing her a favor, you’re full of it,” he mutters.

“Why are you being such a wanker?” Sirius asks, point-blank. “Did I do something?”

Remus feels a surge of rage. “Did you _do_ something?” he says quietly. “No.” _It's what you didn't do._ He is glad that nobody is in the library, because they are being very loud.

“Well, I’m asking very nicely. Please come upstairs with me. Really, Moony, it’s important to me.”

“Why?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises.”

“Fine,” he says. “Well, if you must know, I may have purchased a motorbike. And it may be illegally parked on the Astronomy Tower as we speak.”

“Are you serious?”

“Am I—sorry, sorry, I couldn’t resist,” he says in apology, seeing the look on Remus’s face.

“How? Why?”

“Evans knows someone in Hufflepuff whose uncle was selling. So. Are you coming, or not?”

* * *

Sirius babbles at him the whole way to the Astronomy Tower about chrome Japanese spokes and oil cooling and steering axis angles. When they emerge into the platform of the empty astronomy tower, the room is silent, and he can see twinkling stars all around them. He wraps his arms around himself against the brisk air.

“Where is it?” he says skeptically.

Sirius bounds over to the corner, near one of the smaller telescopes, and seems to grab at thin air before whisking it away. Remus realizes it is James’s Invisibility Cloak. “Look at it,” he croons. It is certainly not brand-new, but it is stylish and mod-looking. It is accented in baby blue colors. The mirrors pop out like two snail antennae, gleaming and silver.

“Wow, Sirius,” he concedes. “It’s great. Does it—have you tried it?”

“Not yet. I, er,” he has a twinkle in his eye again, “I’m thinking about enchanting it.”

“What?!“

“To fly, of course!”

“You’re never getting me on that thing. Have James and Peter seen it?”

“Not yet,” he says quietly. “I just wanted to show you. Because you’re the first person I told about it."

He feels his heartbeat suddenly rocket into his throat. “You remembered that?"

“Yeah,” he says. “Among other things,” he says, peering at him out of the corner of his eye.

He blinks rapidly. “You remembered—“

“Wait, I thought you didn’t remember—“

“You knew?” they both exclaimed, pointing at the other.

“I’d forgotten, then, you know, I remembered,” he says lamely. “I thought I’d made it up. We don’t have to—if you’re not—“ Sirius says quickly, waving his hands around. He is panicking. “Obviously, it’s fine, if not, you’re perfectly entitled—“

Remus leans forward and kisses him straight on the mouth.

They freeze.

_THIS IS THE THIRD I HAVE KISSED SIRIUS BLACK!_ he thinks giddily.

But maybe he has gotten this wrong. He yanks himself away, palms out like he has been caught by the police.

Sirius is stupefied. He looks at him with amazement. “Well. Brilliant,” he whispers.

“Brilliant,” he repeats. “Wait! Shit! What about Marlene?”

“Oh,” he laughs, “She’s in love with Dorcas! She’s trying to make her jealous. Everyone knows that.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Moony.”

“Yes, Padfoot?”

“I’m going to kiss you again.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this a while ago and was like oh i should finish this. I thought it would be "short" but it ended up being 5000 words! don't ask me when this takes place in the canon cuz I couldn't tell ya. In my head canon I always imagined Sirius and Remus kind of coming into their feelings for each other right around when Sirius betrays him and Remus ends up almost killing Snape by accident. And then there is the long road to their reconciliation wherein they do eventually figure it out BEFORE Jily gets together. HOWEVER. I do not have time to configure that into this. Leave a comment and let me know when you think this would have taken place!
> 
> Dramione hive btw head over to my profile to read Burden of Proof, which unfortunately is canon-compliant so only features background wolfstar (though obviously their love is never in dispute. not in MY HOUSE!!!) since they are d*ad post book 7. That fic is currently updating weekly. read if you like: slow burn enemies to lovers, a (hopefully) complex rendering of Draco, Hermione being a badass, a safe space for people who like Dramione but also think Ron is valid, and sorting abolition.
> 
> Find me @ hexameterswrites on tumblr for manips and sneak peeks of upcoming chapters on other fics.


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